


view from the hill

by waveydnp



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22616962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp
Summary: “Sorry, mate. I’m just— I’m walking to class and I see my favourite YouTuber’s face in a weird photo about pancake sex and there’s a phone number there. I’m only human, yeah? Didn’t expect it toactuallybe your number.”
Relationships: Jimmy Hill/Phil Lester
Comments: 21
Kudos: 66
Collections: Temple of Gifts





	view from the hill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [templeofshame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/templeofshame/gifts).



> happy birthday zanadu <3

Phil’s mobile rings. Loudly.

The room is pitch black. It’s the middle of the night. He’s asleep, or he was before the ringing started. He’s also still mildly drunk from that ill-advised drinking game with his housemates, so his voice is slurred when he answers the call. “Hullo?”

The voice on the other end of the line whispers something that Phil can’t make out. It’s creepy, though, and serves to jolt his heart into an uncomfortably quick rhythm and tear him unceremoniously from the half-awake state to which he was still clinging.

“What?” he croaks, sitting up against his headboard and fumbling his hand out to turn on his bedside lamp. He manages instead to knock his glasses off the nightstand.

“Pancake,” the disembodied voice whispers a little louder. Then it laughs, and the call cuts off.

Phil checks the number, but doesn’t recognize it. The adrenaline fades quickly, and he resolves to deal with whatever the hell that was in the morning.

-

Or not, apparently, because morning brings with it a dehydration headache pounding behind his tired eyes. He forgoes the adult solution of a large glass of water and a sensible breakfast for a massive over-sweet coffee and a cold Gregg’s sausage roll stolen from the communal fridge. He inhales it on his way to class, and the fresh air actually starts to help him feel mildly more human until his now full stomach plummets right down into his ass when he sees a familiar face in a very unfortunately familiar photo stuck to a cork board of flyers about various university goings-on.

It’s his face. In the worst photo in the history of photos, which he realizes with sudden and painful clarity he was an absolute moron to bring to the attention of his stupid awful housemates.

It’s got his actual phone number on it.

Housemates are stupid. Pranks are stupid. Getting drunk and revealing anything even remotely personal ever is _stupid_. Mostly, it’s him, though. He’s the one who posed for the stupid photo. He’s stupid.

Also, fuck.

He tears the thing off the board and rips it into approximately a billion pieces and scatters them to the wind. Then he goes to class.

-

“Take them all down. Now.”

He’s personally torn down at least two dozen photos, but they seem to be plastered over every available surface on campus. He’s actually had a few people point at him and laugh. His phone has been ringing for days with numbers he doesn’t recognize, his messages filling up with spam texts. Most of them are taking the piss in a way that’s playful, but a few contain the kind of words he’d spent his entire adolescence dreading.

He really doesn’t think it’s funny. Even now, in the safety of his own home, his hands are trembling with the indignation of it all. He’s been the butt of enough jokes in his life. University was meant to be a fresh start away from all of that.

The guy who printed the photos, he’s not a bad guy. That’s why the color drains from his face when he hears the tremor of genuine anger in Phil’s voice. That’s why he puts his coat on right away and brings two of his mates out with him to take down the photos. He’s not a bad guy, just a guy that took a joke way too far.

-

The calls and texts don’t stop all at once. It’s more of a slow peter. But after a few weeks have passed, the experience is placed into the memory folder of Phil’s brain enough that a phone call from an unknown number doesn’t immediately make him suspicious.

Especially not when most of his attention is devoted to the game of Crash Bandicoot he’s about to lose, and he answers without really stopping to think. He traps his mobile between his ear and shoulder and grunts out a, “Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Who’s this?”

“This is Jimmy.”

Phil is distracted enough that he dies in the game and throws the controller down. “Oh.” He racks his brain for a good five seconds before asking, “Jimmy who?”

“Can I ask you a question, mate?”

“Uhh… yes?”

“What is pancake lovin’?”

Phil hangs up.

The same number, the number that belongs to Jimmy, whoever the hell that is, rings again five minutes later. Not a single person prior had ever dared share a name or any shred of personal information in their quest to humiliate Phil for his long hair and cringe pose and apparent pan-fried breakfast fetish, and Jimmy’s tone had been strangely earnest, so against all Phil’s better judgement, he actually picks up the call. “What?”

“This is Phil, right?”

Phil’s heart rate is through the roof in two milliseconds flat, and he’s about to hang up and block the number when Jimmy says, “AmazingPhil? I’ve seen your videos.”

And that pulls him up short. “Oh.”

“I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“I’m still freaked out,” Phil admits.

“Sorry, mate. I’m just— I’m walking to class and I see my favourite YouTuber’s face in a weird photo about pancake sex and there’s a phone number there. I’m only human, yeah? Didn’t expect it to _actually_ be your number.”

Phil drops his head against the sofa back and sighs loudly. “Can you just forget you saw that photo? I don’t have a pancake thing.”

“No?”

“I mean— I like pancakes. But not… like that.” Pause. “Wait, favourite?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t immediately know what to say to that. It makes him feel a kind of special he’s rarely ever felt before. “Well…” he mumbles eventually. “Thanks.”

“I’m still really curious about the pancake thing.”

This is one of the most random conversations Phil’s ever had, but he decides it’s still better for this stranger to know he’s not a pancake weirdo, especially if he’s a _fan_. “Just one of my housemates playing a very daft prank.”

“Do your housemates not know that you’re famous?” Jimmy asks.

Phil snorts. “Famous. Right.”

“I recognized you right away.”

“All I do is sit in front of my camera and waffle.”

“Well—” Jimmy takes an audible breath. “I like your waffle.”

Phil opens his mouth, but Jimmy cuts back in. “I’ll leave you alone now, pancake man. Later.” Then he hangs up.

Phil holds his phone in his lap and stares at it until the screen goes black. Then he gets up, goes to his room, and pulls out his camera.

-

His housemate may have been a bit of a thoughtless dickhead for wallpapering the entirety of York’s campus with Phil’s stupid face, but at least Phil got a good video out of it. _I’m the Pancake Man_ is shaping up to be one of his most popular to date.

He’s sat on his bed scrolling through the many comments when his eyes catch on a particular one. **jimmy0010** : you owe me royalties, mate

Alright, so he may actually have a point, because maybe Phil had made mention of the bizarre call from Jimmy, and maybe he hadn’t bothered to change Jimmy’s name or allow him the courtesy of anonymity, and maybe he literally titled the video with the nickname Jimmy had given him.

His pulse quickens as he types out a reply.  
 **AmazingPhil** : thought you were a fan. you should feel honoured

He keeps scrolling.

-

A few days later he checks back. Scrolls more. Pretends he isn’t keeping an eye out for a certain username in particular.

Pretends he isn’t disappointed when he doesn’t see it.

Pretends it’s a slip of the finger when he clicks over to Jimmy’s profile.

Pretends his mouth doesn’t fall open at the discovery that not only does Jimmy have a whole video library of his own, but that the most recent one is titled _A Funny Thing Happened On My Way To Class…_ and it was posted one day ago.

Phil’s never clicked on anything so fast.

“ _Hi guys, it’s me Jimmy again and… fuck. Something happened the other day and it’s—” He mimes his head exploding. “I’m trying to play it cool but I’m slightly freaking out on the inside_.”

Phil finds himself grinning as he watches, and not just because he’s flattered - this bloke is _funny_. And good at telling a story. He’s got good timing, good pacing. Doesn’t need weird edits to make himself interesting. He’s also extremely easy on the eyes, not that Phil notices or anything.

He doesn’t mention Phil by name, but a quick scroll through the comments reveals that at least a few of Jimmy’s viewers have figured it out anyway. He decides to eliminate the need for any further guesswork on their part.

 **AmazingPhil** : it would appear I’ve got a full on stalker o.O

It only takes a few minutes for Jimmy to respond.

 **jimmy0010** : says the bloke commenting on MY video

Jimmy was wrong; Phil isn’t famous. His life is such that he often forgets that other people even watch the silly rambles he posts online. None of his mates back home know. None of his housemates know. It’s a mostly secret hobby that hasn’t really touched his everyday reality. But some people do watch his videos, clearly. He has the sudden realization that up until now he’s been seeing those people less like actual living and breathing human beings and more as an abstract concept.

Perhaps it’s this epiphany that leads him to fish his phone out of his pocket and scroll through his call history to find Jimmy’s number. He adds it into his contact list and stares at it like a weirdo, wanting to hold on to the warmth of validation. He doubts he’ll ever have the balls to actually ring Jimmy, but even the knowledge that he could if he wanted to is comforting.

Then something even weirder happens: Jimmy rings _him_. Just like that, like it’s no big deal.

Then again, maybe it isn’t. It’s not even as weird as when he rang the first time. At least they kind of sort of know each other now.

He takes a deep breath before he answers. “I thought I was joking about the stalker thing, but mate…”

“Oi, fuck off.”

Phil giggles. It wasn’t the response he was expecting, but he reckons it’s actually the perfect one. “You didn’t tell me you made videos too.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“You’re funny,” Phil says matter-of-factly.

“So are you.”

Phil files that one away, knowing with absolute certainty he’ll be coming back to obsess over it later. “Sorry I said your name in my video, I didn’t think.”

“Are you kidding? I loved it. Guest starring in an AmazingPhil video is like, so ace.”

Phil giggles again. His insides are all fluttery and weightless like he sucked down an entire tank of helium. “Shush. It’s just Phil.”

“Alright Just Phil. It took all my self control not to name drop you in mine.”

“I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then Phil’s mouth speaks aloud a combination of words his brain never gave it permission to speak. “Maybe you could guest star in the next one properly.”

Jimmy is so smooth. He doesn’t miss a beat. “‘Meet my stalker?’”

“And I could be in yours. ‘Meet the Pancake Man.’”

“Maybe we should just start a new channel and become the next Smosh.”

“British Smosh,” Phil offers. “Bosh.”

Then Jimmy says, “Reckon we should hang out first, though, yeah? Without a camera.”

For some reason that makes Phil’s insides pretty much explode. “Oh.”

“If you want.” Jimmy pauses. “Unless that was all a joke.”

“No,” Phil says. “I mean yeah.”

“What?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t.”

“Mate.”

Phil punches himself gently in the forehead, never more frustrated with his own awkwardness than he is right now. “No it wasn’t a joke and yeah we should,” he spits out quickly.

“Oh, right. Good then.”

“Good.”

“I always wondered if you were actually as weird as you are in your videos, but I reckon I’ve got my answer now.”

Phil pulls his legs up and hides his face between his knees. “Shut up. I know.”

“No, it’s endearing. Authenticity is good. I… yeah. I like it.”

“If I knew how to fake being normal, I would.”

Jimmy says, “If I knew how to _stop_ faking, I would.”

Phil’s embarrassment evaporates. He doesn’t really know Jimmy, but he can hear the sadness in his voice quite clearly. He hasn’t figured out how to respond when Jimmy says, “Anyway. There’s a party this weekend. Wanna come with?”

“Yeah,” Phil croaks. “Sounds good.”

“Brilliant.

“I’ll definitely be awkward.”

Jimmy laughs. “I hope so.”

-

Phil spends the next few days thinking of little else, spending every evening shut up in his room watching Jimmy’s videos. It would seem they’ve both been doing the YouTube thing for a few years, and they both have an apparent affinity for speaking to their cameras about everything and nothing at the same time.

He’s bricking it by the night of the party, stood in front of the mirror attached to his door and wondering why he never realized before how weird looking he is. Despite a whole laundry list of oddities and idiosyncrasies, he rarely finds himself feeling _this_ unsure of himself. His neck is too long and his nose looks like a beak and his skin is too pale and his shoulders are a little more hunched than they should be. When did his hair get this long? Is it too long? It’s definitely too long. He reckons he could fit it into a ponytail if he wanted to. He physically shudders at the thought.

Not that any of it really matters, of course. So what if he’s weird-looking? It’s not like it’s a date. And he already knows Jimmy’s somewhat fond of his particular brand of weirdness.

He straightens his hair for much, much longer than he needs to. It’s never been straighter, something he really, _really_ can’t say for anything else about him.

Does he tell Jimmy that? After all, he did kind of promise himself when he left Rossendale that he was going to live that part of himself out loud, at least when he’s here, bubbled in by the safety of liberalism that university affords.

His phone buzzes in his pocket then, a merciful distraction - for about two seconds, before he sees that it’s Jimmy ringing. “Hello.”

“Hiya. Where do you live? My mate’s giving me a lift to the party, we can pick you up if you like.”

-

Phil waits for Jimmy outside. Maybe it makes him look like an over eager nerd, but the anxiety of waiting for the doorbell to ring is too much for him to bear.

He’s feeling annoyed with himself. The rational part of his brain knows there’s absolutely no reason to be nervous. He’s meeting someone new. It’s not a big deal. It’s something he’s gotten really good at in his years at this school, and once the initial ice of awkwardness is broken, he’s really good at being friends with people. He’s not a shy person, but sometimes his weird thought spirals try to convince him he is.

In this case it’s extra stupid, because he already knows Jimmy likes his sense of humour, and he likes Jimmy’s. He knows they’re going to get on, and they’re going to a party. Phil’s gotten good at those, too. As long as there’s no requirement made of him to dance, he’s great.

His hands are sweating by the time a rusty little blue Honda pulls up, and he wipes them on his jeans as Jimmy rolls down the window to shout, “AmazingPhil!”

Phil was a fool to worry. There isn’t even any ice to break. “Jimmy zero zero one zero!” he shouts back.

Jimmy’s face scrunches up. “That’s really the opposite of catchy, innit?” He’s sat in the backseat, and he opens the door and scoots over to make room for Phil.

“At least no one will ever mistake you for a magician,” Phil says as he bends his long body nearly in half to fit into the car.

“Is that a good thing?”

Phil pulls the door shut behind him and smiles. “I guess it’s not. When I was little I wanted to be a magician when I grew up. I tried to learn, but I was rubbish at even the most basic card tricks. ”

“Magicians are cool. Zero zero one zero makes me sound like a robot or something.”

“Are you saying robots aren’t cool?” Phil asks incredulously. “Only a robot would say that.”

Jimmy winks. Phil does not find it endearing in the slightest.

Nor does he notice how nice Jimmy’s cologne smells. Or how cute his accent is. Or how there isn’t even a moment’s lull in conversation the whole ride. Phil doesn’t even remember to introduce himself to the bloke driving the car until they’re pulling up outside the party house.

The music is loud, but not so loud that there’s much worry of having the police called on them. Phil follows Jimmy into the house and notes the smell of weed and tobacco, but that isn’t really different from any other party he’s attended since he moved to York. Jimmy leads the way to the kitchen where all the booze is and secures them each a beer. Phil hates beer, but not as much as he hates taking shots, so he doesn’t say anything.

Jimmy clinks his bottle against Phil’s. “So.”

“So,” Phil echoes, taking a sip and managing not to make a face at the taste.

“What are you studying?”

“Linguistics, you?”

“History.”

Phil does make a face at that.

Jimmy is instantly offended. “Oi. History is cool.”

“Is it, though?”

“I’m a robot, and robots are cool, remember? Think I’d know.”

Phil grins, biting down gently on the tip of his tongue.

“So you like words,” Jimmy says.

Phil shrugs. “I guess? I don’t really think I like them more than I like a lot of other things. More than numbers, though.”

“Fuck numbers,” Jimmy agrees. “What _do_ you like?” He tilts his head and looks at Phil intently while he waits for a reply.

His eyes are the most electric shade of pale blue Phil’s ever seen in his life. They are not distracting at all.

“I’m gay,” Phil blurts. Because of the whole not-being-distracted-by-Jimmy’s-physical-attractiveness thing, clearly.

“What?”

Phil tears his eyes off Jimmy’s and looks down at his drink. “Sorry, I— That was awkward. I’m not trying to— I just like to tell people. That. Right away.”

Jimmy nods. “So you’re not wasting your time accidentally befriending homophobic dickheads. I get it.”

Phil exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Yeah.”

“Thanks for telling me.” He smiles, and it’s a crooked thing that lights up his face. It’s quite possibly the nicest reaction Phil’s ever had to coming out, and it makes him feel brave.

“So I guess that’s one way of answering your question? I like guys. I mean, that’s one of many things I like.”

“Magicians, robots, guys,” Jimmy says, pushing his long fringe out of his eyes. “That’s a start.”

Phil holds up his beer. “This doesn’t go on the list.”

“You don’t like Carlsberg?”

“Don’t really like beer.”

Jimmy snags it out of his hand. He brings it to his lips and tips it back and knocks the whole bottle back in one go. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and grins. “Let’s find you something you like.”

-

Jimmy finds Phil a drink he likes, something fruity and sweet to mask the taste of the alcohol, and he ends up drinking a good many of them over the course of the next few hours as he follows Jimmy around and meets stranger after stranger. Jimmy seems to be friends with every person in this house. He’s just one of those people, Phil reckons, the kind who’s charismatic enough to get along with anyone. Having fun with Jimmy happens so naturally that Phil doesn’t even have to try.

He plays and loses horrendously in a game of beer pong officiated by an aggressively American exchange student, but it’s still fun because Jimmy is right next to him the whole time, cheering him on and laughing loudly every time Phil throws the ball so far from the cups it would appear that he’d forgotten the rules of the game. He hadn’t, he informed his audience loudly and repeatedly, he’s just extremely shit at hand eye coordination. And any other type of coordination, really.

They play Ring of Fire next, which doesn’t require skill per se, but Phil somehow still manages to be rubbish at. He’s not got quick reflexes on a good day, and this day is quickly becoming absolutely pissed on raspberry vodka coolers, so every time a card gets picked that requires him _not_ to be the slowest of the group on the uptake, he invariably is.

Jimmy actually ends up pulling him away before the game is over. Phil pouts, but it’s only for show. Jimmy’s got a hand on his arm and could lead him just about anywhere and Phil’d still be chuffed to be there.

“Don’t want you getting sick,” Jimmy tells him.

“You’ve drunk more than me.”

“Yeah, but unlike you, I can handle it.”

Phil opens his mouth to protest and then promptly proves Jimmy’s point by _tripping over his own goddamn feet_.Granted, they are roughly the size of sailboats and attached to notoriously clumsy legs, but still. Embarrassing. He goes flying forward, narrowly managing to cheat death and/or dismemberment by catching himself on a conveniently placed bookshelf.

A bevy of items rain down onto the floor, and Jimmy takes a good solid minute to piss himself laughing before putting his hand on Phil’s shoulder and wheezing out an, “Alright, Philly?”

Perhaps it shouldn’t feel quite so natural for such a nickname to be leaving the lips of someone he’s only just met, but it does. It feels like exactly what Jimmy should be calling him, and it makes him forget all about how mortified he’s meant to be right now. “M’alright. I’m used to falling over.”

Jimmy laughs some more and crouches down to help him pick up all the shit he knocked off the shelf. One of those things catches Phil’s eye right away and he grins before gleefully snatching it out of Jimmy’s hands. “I thought of something else I like.”

-

“Example? On a triple word score? Seriously?”

Jimmy grins and shrugs with false modesty as he jots down the ridiculous number of points he just earned. He didn’t even need them; he’s been systematically making a mockery of Phil’s assertion that he’s ‘really really good at Scrabble’ the entire game.

“I’m meant to be the words guy,” Phil grumbles. He lays down his stupid _cat_ without bothering to try to work out something better. His score is basically moot at this point.

Jimmy looks so unbearably smug. “You’re cute when you’re annoyed.”

Phil reaches for the black velvet baggie of letters. “Your mum’s cute,” he quips, then groans when he sees his new letters, not a vowel in sight.

They lose hours to sitting across from each other at the party-thrower’s dining room table making progressively worse and worse words. Eventually they stop keeping track of the score because neither of them can be arsed to do the math, and Phil doesn’t need any more proof that Jimmy is the Scrabble Master.

Phil doesn’t realize just how late - or early - it’s gotten until Jimmy tells him. He assumes that when Jimmy gets up and motions for Phil to follow him, they’re headed to the front door to put on their shoes and call it a night, but instead Jimmy turns down the hall and heads for the stairs.

Jimmy starts heading upstairs, but Phil stills with one foot up on the first step. Jimmy turns around. “D’you need to get home?”

Phil’s heart is thumping painfully hard. He shakes his head.

Jimmy smiles. “C’mon.”

When they get upstairs, Jimmy goes straight for one of the bedrooms and pushes open the door like he owns the place. Phil follows, and it takes him a rather shameful amount of time stood inside that room watching Jimmy move around it with familiarity to realize that he actually _does_ own the place.

It’s Jimmy’s bedroom. He proves this by falling backwards onto the mattress theatrically with a groan. The springs creak under the sudden weight. “Fuck, I’m tired. Also drunk.”

“This is your house?” Phil asks thickly. His palms are doing that sweating thing again.

Jimmy laughs. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

Jimmy shrugs. “Thought you mind find it weird.”

“It’s weirder that you didn’t tell me.”

Jimmy’s smile falters. “Yeah, reckon you’re right. Sorry.”

“You wasted your whole party hanging out with me.”

Jimmy props himself up on his elbows. “It’s my housemate’s party not mine, and it wasn’t wasting. I’m an AP fanboy, remember? Tonight was brilliant.” Long pause, in which Phil is too tipsy and overwhelmed to form a response. “Right?” Jimmy asks, and it’s the first time Phil’s ever heard any kind of uncertainty in his voice.

“It’s the most fun I’ve had in ages,” Phil admits. “None of my mates wanna play board games with me anymore and they make me go to clubs and drink too much.”

“I made you drink too much.”

Phil walks over to the bed and perches just on the edge of the mattress. “Actually, you _stopped_ me drinking too much.”

“I stopped you making yourself sick. Reckon you still probably drank too much.”

“Well I’ve already got a mum,” Phil says. “And she’s not here, so I’m allowed to drink too much if that’s what I fancy.”

Jimmy barks out a laugh. “Alright. That’s fair.”

Now that the disorientation of learning he’s been in Jimmy’s home all along is fading, he’s starting to realize how strange it is that Jimmy’s invited him into his _bedroom_. He rubs his slick palms against his jeans and pretends to be looking at the decor of Jimmy’s room.

It’s pretty standard university student stuff, though, so there’s really not much to pretend to be looking at. A Libertines poster, a computer desk cluttered with textbooks. On his bedside table, a collection of half-melted candles and a tattered paperback novel. Phil can’t see the title from where he’s sitting, but it’s clearly a well-loved book.

“Hey. AmazingPhil.” Jimmy’s voice has gone much softer in the time since he last spoke.

Phil looks at him. “Jimmy Robot.”

“Is it weird if I ask you to come lie next to me?”

Phil is just drunk enough not to freak out about climbing up onto the bed properly and flopping down next to his new mate. “It might be, but so is everything else that’s happened to me in the last couple weeks.”

“That’s true.”

Their shoulders are pressed together. The bed isn’t really big enough for both of them, and it’s definitely not big enough for Phil’s boat feet not to hang off the end.

“So, what d’you think?” Jimmy asks.

Phil turns his head on the pillow to look at him. “What?”

“D’you like me enough to have me in a video?”

He smiles. “You’re alright, I guess.”

Jimmy turns his head to look up at the ceiling. “It’s weird, but I always felt like if you were a real person and I somehow got to meet you, we’d get on.”

“Yeah, definitely weird.” Phil elbows him playfully.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just a normal bloke,” Phil says.

“With a pancake thing.”

“Anyone who doesn’t have a pancake thing is lying to themselves.”

Jimmy smiles. “Can I ask you something?”

“I suppose I’ll allow it.”

“How did you manage to find the balls to just… come out like that?”

Phil frowns, studying the profile of Jimmy’s face. He’s got a question or two _he’d_ like to ask, now. “I decided before I moved here that when I started uni I didn’t want to pretend anymore.”

“Yeah, but…” Jimmy turns his head to look at Phil again. “Easier said than done.”

Phil chokes back his questions. He’s got no right to the answers, and this suddenly feels like a very important moment in their budding friendship. He remembers what Jimmy said earlier about wishing he knew how to stop faking, and suddenly all that matters to Phil is that he proves himself to be a person Jimmy can trust.

“It is, yeah,” Phil says. “I was this close to having a panic attack when I sat my housemates down first year and told them, but they were all really lovely and accepting. I built it up in my head as this terrifying thing, but having friends who know me as I really am and still like me is… It’s amazing.”

“Do your parents know?”

Phil shakes his head. “Feels different back home. I reckon they’d probably be alright with it, but… there’s more to lose there.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy murmurs.

“I’m going to tell them,” Phil says with conviction. He’s watching Jimmy’s face carefully. “Soon. And I know it’s going to be amazing in the long run.”

Jimmy nods, and then they’re both quiet for a while. Jimmy’s eyes drift closed, and Phil lifts his head up so he can see what book it is that Jimmy has loved to tatters.

It’s Maurice by E. M. Forster. Phil may not be the most cultured or well-read of people, but he _is_ an English Language major and he is a gay man. He knows this book.

He lays his head back down on the pillow and presses a hand to his chest to feel the pounding rhythm of his heart. He has so much he wants to say, so many promises he wants to make to someone he sees clearly now is scared and unsure and maybe even, despite his endless charm and charisma, a little bit lonely.

Just then, Jimmy startles Phil by murmuring, “I’m glad you told me.”

“Me too,” Phil murmurs back.

“I like you, Phil.”

Phil is certain that Jimmy wouldn’t have said that if it wasn’t three in the morning and they weren’t both still a little drunk.

He’s also certain that he means it.

“I thought of another thing to add to the list.”

Jimmy looks at him with soft sleepy eyes. “Hmm?”

“Of things I like,” Phil clarifies. “Magicians, robots, guys, Scrabble… and you.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you as always to mandy for all the help and encouragement


End file.
